


But Thinking Makes It So

by shotboxer



Category: Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotboxer/pseuds/shotboxer
Summary: Kivrin came to Oxford for the books and stayed for the possibilities, the people, and yes, the paperwork.





	But Thinking Makes It So

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Izilen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izilen/gifts).



> Many thanks to Lilliburlero for betaing.
> 
> For Izilen. Happy Yuletide!

**But Thinking Makes it So**

**_ 2052 _ **

**_1 st Year_ **

**_0 th Week, Michaelmas Term_ **

**_Bodleian Memorial, Court of Spires, Thomas Bodley Administrative Building_ **

 

Kivrin shifted yet again to avoid a careless elbow.  The walk over had been an exercise in the embarrassment of being vastly over dressed in public.  Now that they were here, the gown she wore over the prescribed black and white no longer felt out of place.  The woman at the front of the room called for order in a voice tight with impatience and Kivrin wondered how many fidgeting groups in sub fusc she had inducted already today.  She imagined she might have that same pinched look like if she had been called away from her work to repeatedly drag a bunch of unappreciative students through a rote recitation.  

Kivrin tilted her head back to gaze at the sky visible through the tempered glass dome arching overhead and scuffed her toe against the edge of the plaque laid at her feet.  The chiseled stone was the only sign that the Old Bodleian had ever stood.  Kivrin swept her eyes over the thirty eight spires supporting the that dome had been raised as a testament to the ancient colleges, self-proclaimed guardians of knowledge.  There are no books, Kivrin realized.  She could see crests and seals and traditional crenulations, even a gargoyle or two, but no sign of what made the library, and the university, possible.  In front, the woman had stopped speaking.  Kivrin focused on the card clutched in her hand.

“I hereby undertake not to remove from the Library . . .”  Except when the University is being bombed, Kivrin thought.

“Or to mark, deface, or injure in any way, any volume, document, or other object belonging to it or in its custody . . .”  It was the university itself that had made this necessary.  They had stopped taking care of the library, and the students had followed the university’s example.  They had known, better than she or anyone here could ever know, how precious those pages had been, the months and years it took to copy just one book.  And still they had treated the books with casual entitlement, forgetting, or refusing, to return them to the library.

“Not to bring into the Library or kindle therein any fire or flame . . .”  Not to leave a pinpoint in amidst the reading room aisles.  Not to destroy something from the 14th century as a protest against something that happened in the 21st.

“And not to smoke in the Library . . .”  Kivrin shoved the paper with the declaration on it into her pocket.  “And I promise to obey all rules of the Library.” 

The books had survived, though the place that had sheltered them was no more.  When it became clear that the pinpoints were part of a coordinated campaign of destruction, the Library had defended itself against the external threat just as vigorously as it defended itself from the internal menace of arrogant students who treated the privilege of learning with contempt.  The entirety of the Library’s collections had been moved to the Depository in Swindon or transferred to the libraries run by the departments and colleges.

As her fellow students rushed for the exit, Kivrin pushed her way against the tide.  The pinch-faced woman’s hand was on a door labeled Authorized Personnel Only when Kivrin reached her.  “Can you tell me how an undergraduate could get access to the Humphrey collections? The ones in Swindon?”  The woman’s eyes sharpened to match her face.  “Please?” Kivrin added.

“Only graduate students are allowed access to the original manuscripts.  Undergraduates work with the scanned versions unless there is a very compelling reason for them to do otherwise.”

“But there is a way to . . ”

The woman was already shouldering the door open.  “A tutor needs to submit a request to your college.  Your college would then request your department to petition the Library for an exception.  Exceptions are rare.”  The door swung shut and cut  off Kivrin’s view of the woman’s stiff back.  The sound of the latch clicking into place echoed in the space of the court.

Kivrin pushed her braids back from her face and took a deep breath.  Rare wasn’t impossible.  As she hurried to catch up with the retreating backs of her fellow freshers, she began to tally things up in her head.  She needed to sign for her Bod Card and then she was going to find out who her tutor was, and then she would find a way to convince them that she needed to see things with her own eyes.  She hadn’t come to Oxford to be fobbed off with flat reproductions on a vidder screen.  She was going to touch the past.

 

 

**_ 2053 _ **

**_1 st Year_ **

**_1 st Week, Hilary Term_ **

**_History Faculty Lecture Hall_ **

****

Kivrin looked at the schedule on her handheld in dismay.  Of course the lectures required for her year would conflict with the special topics that actually interested her.  It was as if they trying to discourage students from taking an interest in manuscript studies.  When she was at school, she couldn’t wait to go to university.  She had imagined happy days spent immersed in books, delving into the crannies of history with no other subjects to distract her.  She had not imagined that reading would be all she did.  

The first week she had been presented with a list of primary and secondary sources and another of commentary and theory and informed that she was expected to read it all for next week’s tutorial, and find time to write an essay on it as well.   Kivrin had stared at the lists in shock, thinking that she couldn’t possibly have time to sleep, let alone eat.  She had been a fairly fast reader at school.  Faced with an eight week term and new lists each week, from her tutor and lecturers both, Kivrin had transformed into a devourer of text.  There was a reason why so many students remained in Oxford over the vac.

At the front of the room, the lecturer rapped on the podium.  The sounds of people shifting in their seats died down.  The don, Gellart?  Jekyll?  She glanced down at the course description, Gilchrist, began in a voice designed to carry.

“As the description of this course indicates, I will be presenting you with a series of lectures designed to give an overview of the history of the Middle Ages, with some suggestions for topics for you to explore in more depth with your tutors.  We will get to those subjects in due course.”  The shuffling in the room increased.

“I shall be taking this first lecture to introduce an issue that is central, in my opinion, crucial, to our work as historians, yet is seldom discussed.  I am referring to the relationship, no, let me be blunt, to the tension, between the two approaches we take to historical enquiry, traditional and practical.  The traditional consists of all methods of investigation that rely on the texts and other artifacts that have survived intact to our present time.  The practical has one method, and that is fieldwork.  It is my belief that time travel is as essential to the study of history as traditional methods.”

Kivrin set her pen down.  Time travel?  The man in the seat to her left leaned towards her.  “What’s he talking about?  No one goes anytime further back than mid 18th century.  Everyone knows that.  No one told me we’d be getting lectured by nutters.  This is bloody Oxford!”  Kivrin nodded and made a vague sound of agreement.  He was most likely right.  It sounded ludicrous.  But it was an Oxford don saying it.  “Did you see he’s head of Medieval?  Good thing I’m not Brasenose, else I’d have a chance of getting stuck with him as a tutor.”

Kivrin picked up her pen.  She couldn’t go to the Middle Ages.  She would get her exception from the Bodleian and then she could touch what the contemps had touched, read what they had read, and imagine herself there.

Gilchrist continued, “As some of you may be aware, certain periods of history are barred from time travel because of the ranking assigned to them by the University, which uses a risk assessment protocol based on the International Temporal Travel Risk Scale that was developed in the 2030s.  There are long standing criticisms of the methods the Scale uses to quantify risk.  I am in the process of challenging the validity of the current rankings, for the following reasons . . .”

Kivrin bore down with her pen.  The extra ink made her notes look dark and menacing, as if she were writing a ransom note.  It was probably impossible.  The paper tore.  She forced her hand to release the pen and shook it out.  The head of Medieval wanted it to happen.  And if it did, then she wouldn’t need an exception.  She wouldn’t be confined to the small percentage of texts that had survived.  She could be there, in Oxford, when the library was founded.  She could open a book, one that no one here had seen for hundreds of years.  She could touch not time worn fragile pages, but new, stiff sheets, bright with fresh ink.  She could read.  She could know.

 

 

**_2 nd Week, Hilary Term_ **

**_Brasenose College, Junior Common Room_ **

****

The handheld lay on the table in the corner by the window with the faulty latch, a thin pile of papers next to it.  Diarmuid set his coffee down on the edge furthest from both and scooted the chair around so he wouldn’t be sitting in the draught.  If Kivrin kept on asking him to keep an eye on her stuff this often, she was going to be buying all his snacks for him until they both graduated.  He glanced at the door.  No sign of her.  Apparently this was going to be one of the long conversations.  If they were lucky, whoever Kivrin was talking to had a friend or two to coax them away with a reminder of plans already made.  Then everyone could get a break and relax.  This might be Oxford, but Diarmuid stood firm in his belief that talking about your studies did not count as a break from studying, no matter how much you enjoyed the discussion.  He took a sip of his coffee.  From what he could read upside down, Kivrin was doing some sort of schedule comparison.  He set the cup down and moved over to sit on the couch facing his friend’s notes.  He might as well help her out while he was waiting.  They’d have more time to spend together that way.  Diarmuid picked up the sheet at the top of the pile.

 

_Lectures in Time Travel Theory and Practice_

 

_All students are required to attend the following two lectures before they may apply to be admitted to any of the main body of lectures in time travel theory and practice._

_History of Time Travel (cross-listed with Philosophy)_

_Technology and Mechanisms of Time Travel (cross-listed with Physics and Computer Sciences)_

 

Diarmuid slurped half the remaining coffee instead of verbalizing his reaction.  All the sessions of both lectures conflicted with one of their tutorials.  He leant back into the cushions.  Forget about snacks.  Kivrin was going to convince Latimer to let her skip tutorials and make him some serious money in the process.

“What are you grinning about?”  Kivrin plopped down next to him.

He shifted over before she could use her short stature to advantage and dig both her elbows and head into his ribs to get him to move.  “What was the name of that idiot who was giving you a hard time at the bop at Teddy Hall?”  

****

****

**_3rd Week, Hilary Term_ **

**_Balliol College_ **

Kivrin stood on the landing and stared at the door and the plaque with his name on it.  James Dunworthy.  All she had to do was knock, yet she stood poised, hand half raised, held in the deceptively lax grip of doubt.  He had talked about how the details mattered, not only because they provided evidence for an argument, or because they helped you to blend in with the contemps, but because humans cared about the little things, and historians studied humans just as much as they studied texts.

She hadn’t been nervous approaching Mr. Gilchrist.  He had seized upon the idea as if he had only been waiting for her to walk through his door for Medieval’s entrée into time travel to begin.  He hadn’t said that, of course.  He’d gone on about traditions and regulations and how she would need to keep up with her coursework, exams were never postponed, her degree must come first.  Mr. Latimer was willing, but he was used to either shepherding students through many varied subjects, or dragging them along through every detail of Old English, conjugations and vowel shifts and inflections. 

Neither of them seemed aware that there were people involved.  That she wouldn’t be alone in a  library or some abandoned manor.  If she was going to be accepted by the contemps, she needed to prepare properly, lay out each step, think of every detail.  This wasn’t her college.  Mr. Dunworthy was 20th century, not Medieval.  And when he talked about going on a drop he had the same note in his voice that Kivrin had last heard in hers when she was telling the Geology second year across from her at formal hall about the complexity of the feudal economy as her pudding went cold.  Kivrin knocked.  

 

 

**_5 th Week, Trinity Term _ **

**_History Faculty, New Inn Hall Street_ **

Kivrin panted in the doorway, desperately meeting the eyes of the man at the reception desk as she swung her bag off her shoulder.  She opened her mouth, eyes on the clock on the opposite wall.  The man held out his hand.  “Give them here.”  His face was tensed with annoyance but his voice had a dry quality to it that indicated amusement slinking beneath his dour demeanor.  “There’s always one.  You’ll just make it.  You’re sure you have everything?”  Kivrin nodded and held the sheath of papers out to him.  “Doesn’t matter now.  You’ll get what’s there no matter if it’s the course you meant to sign up for or not.  Price of waiting until the last minute.”  

Kivrin leaned on the desk.  “I had to get the special permission forms signed and they needed the number from my approval for special access to the library collections and--”

“And that didn’t come in until this morning and Mr. Basingame’s off at a conference so he couldn’t sign and you had to fill out a form so Mr. Gilchrist could sign in his place, but you needed proof Basingame was away before he could do that.”  His face transformed with a sympathetic grin.  “Welcome to Oxford, where there are many storied traditions, the most important being paperwork for paperwork’s sake.”

“They didn’t mention that during the talk they gave at my school.”

The man clipped her forms together and inserted them into a packet.  “They wouldn’t.  Pomp and circumstance plays best, but it’s books and bureaucracy that make this place run.”

“I prefer the books.”

“And that, my dear, is why you are a student.”  He handed her across the packet.  “Name, College, Year, Bod Number.  Sign on the last line.”

Kivrin did as instructed and handed the packet back.  “Thank you.  Really.  For everything.  I, this place wouldn’t be the same without you.”  She blushed.  That hadn’t come out right.  “I mean, we, the students, we take you for granted.”  She swept her hand in front of her to encompass the whole room.  “You’re the ones who make sure we can do what we do.  Thank you.  I’m sorry it took me this long to appreciate your job.”

The man shook his head.  “Most never notice us at all.”  He picked up a dish from next to his computer and held it out.  It was filled with mints.  “I’m Alf.  You have any questions, come ask.”

“Kivrin.”  She took a mint.  “A pleasure to meet you, Alf.”

“Likewise, young lady, likewise.”

 

 

**_7 th Week, Trinity Term_ **

**_Brasenose College, Kivrin Engle’s Room_ **

Kivrin stared at the form.  She turned it over to make sure.  She frowned as she wrote her name on the designated line at the top.  This was the thing that would allow her to get money that she would never have to repay, and it was shorter than any other form she’d seen, including the one she’d filled out to get the access code for the night lock on the Lodge door.  Kivrin focused her attention on the next space to fill in.

 

_Name of the Event You Plan to Attend_

Issues in Fieldwork Across Disciplines, A Joint Conference in Anthropology, History, Sociology and Archeology.

_Location and Date of the Event_

Manchester University, ~~Friday 0th week~~ 2 October 2053

 

_Reasons for Attending the Event_

To gain a better understanding of what fieldwork is like by speaking with people from different disciplines who have been in the field in different capacities.  To network with ~~potential mentors~~ my colleagues and explore areas where we might collaborate on research in the future.

_How the Event Furthers Your Course of Study_

No one has ever time traveled to the Middle Ages and not much is known about the practical details of how the contemps lived their lives, in comparison with the information we have for more recent time periods.  Speaking with people who have dealt with fieldwork situations where things happened that they did not expect will help me to prepare for traveling to a time period where it is likely that I will encounter things I do not expect and cannot anticipate.

 

_Amount Requested_

_Registration Fees:_ £100

_Accommodation:_ £225 (75 per day)

_Travel:_ £50

_Other (Please Specify):_ £50 – food

£75 – opening night banquet dinner

£30 – Saturday networking lunch

_Total:_ £530

_Will you accept less than the requested amount, if it is offered? **YES**_

 

_To be submitted with application:_

_A copy of the event literature_

_Authorization for the Disbursement of Funds_

Kivrin checked the bits she’d erased weren’t obvious, signed the form and slid it into the envelope addressed to the Brasenose College Bursar.  She tore a page out of her notebook and picked up the conference schedule.

 

_Mr. Dunworthy,_

_You asked me to tell you if I decided to go to the conference.  Well, I’ve decided to go and I think I know which presentations I’m going to attend as well.  I’ve applied for a bursary to cover the costs, which are much more than I thought they would be, even at the student rate.  If they don’t give me the bursary, I think I can scrape together enough to go anyway, but I hope I won’t have to._

_I’m including a copy of the conference schedule along with this note, so you can tell me if there is a presentation I haven’t listed that you think I should go to. I also don’t know if I should spend the whole time going to presentations or if I should plan time to network in the lobby.  Is that something that happens often at conferences?  Do people really stay and chat in the lobby or the hotel bar when they could be watching someone give a paper?  Or does that sort of thing only happen in vids?  I guess, if I were giving a paper, I’d rather know that the people who were watching wanted to be there and were interested in what I had to say than that some of them only attended because they thought they were supposed to.  I wonder if someone has ever kept count of how many people attend each presentation and published league tables based on how popular different speakers were._

_You can tell me all about what I should and shouldn’t do when we have our next meeting.  I hope you’re enjoying your own conference.  I’m going to wish you luck for the paper you said you would be presenting, but I’m sure you won’t need it._

Kivrin

 

_The presentations I think I will attend:_

_Is Time Travel Participant Observation?_

_Examining the Differences between Contemporary and Trans-Temporal Fieldwork_

_Ethics in the Field: Roundtable Discussion_

_You Say Data, I Say Data:  Experience, Fact and Standards of Evidence in Disciplines that Employ Fieldwork Methodologies_

_Small Discussion Group Session: Do Time Travelers Experience Less Culture Shock?_

_Assessing Risk Before and During Fieldwork_

_The Consequences of Gender, Race and other Demographic Categories for Fieldwork_

_The Object of Investigation – A Moving Target_

**_8 th Week, Trinity Term_ **

**_Radcliffe Camera, Upper Reading Room_ **

 

Kivrin accepted the books from the librarian and signed for them in the ledger.  One more hour and she was calling it quits.  Mr. Dunworthy was right that she needed to get out in the fresh air more.  He reminded her frequently that, in 20th Century, undergraduates going on a drop for their thesis research was contingent on their maintaining a strong standard of work in all their courses.  She already suspected that he’d had a word with the T2C2 about that.  Kivrin had pointed out that she had passed her Prelims by a very comfortable margin.  She had not said that worrying over things that were never going to happen to her wasn’t good for his health.  

Laila caught Kivrin’s eye from the next table over and pointedly looked at her wrist.  Kivrin wrinkled her nose at her friend and ducked her head to hide her smile.  Forty-five minutes.  Or Laila would enlist help from someone else  and they would forcibly remove her to the college local and no one would let her leave until she’d had at least two pints.  Kivrin spotted T.J. browsing the shelves on the wall to her left.  Half an hour then.       

     

**_ 2053 _ **

**_2 nd Year_ **

**_3rd week, Michaelmas Term_ **

**_High Street_ **

 

Kivrin slid past the couple chatting in the doorway and into the café.  She settled into a seat by the window and shrugged out of her coat.  The waitress came by and she ordered fish and chips and a coffee.  Pushing the cluster of condiments away to the far side of the table, she extricated the paperwork from her bag.

 

_ Provisional Proposal for Trans-Temporal Fieldwork _

_This proposal is to be submitted to the Oxford Time Travel Coordination Committee a minimum of one calendar year prior to the time at which the fieldwork is expected to take place._

_If your provisional proposal is approved, you will have one month to submit the Final Proposal for Trans-Temporal Fieldwork._

_When provisional approval for your fieldwork is granted, the Time Travel Coordination Committee will provide you with a list of requirements specific to the circumstances of your proposal.  These requirements must be fulfilled before definite permission to undertake trans-temporal fieldwork will be granted.  These may include, but are not limited to:_

  * _Separate risk assessments for the time and place of fieldwork and the identity you will assume while in the field._
  * _Proof of preventative health measures, most commonly vaccinations and T-cell enhancements. Each procedure must be documented separately._
  * _Demonstrated proficiency in skills deemed relevant to your time, place and topic of study._



_In the case of some skills, proficiency is demonstrated by means of an examination administered by the Time Travel Research and Support Division within the History Department.  A minimum score of 60 is required for a pass._

_Please allow sufficient time to undertake the necessary skills courses and fulfill any other requirements.  Note that many of the relevant courses are not taught outside term time._

 

A note clipped to the bottom of the page read:

_Since you’re the first to travel to the Middle Ages, Wardrobe and Props aren’t going to have the clothing and others things you’ll need in their inventory.  You’re up against the clock as it is, so if I were you I’d get on requesting those things as a priority.  I’ve listed some things I think you’ll need below, and where you might find them, but you ought to talk to your tutor to make sure you cover everything._

_And remember that everything has to be checked against Probability’s numbers!_

_Good luck.  If anyone can do it, it’s you._

_Alf_

 

Kivrin scanned the list.  Historical dyes and handwoven fabrics for her clothes.  At Freshers Fair last year she’d overheard someone talking to the man at the Walking Club booth about the research he was doing into recreating the dyes used to color scraps of fabric found in a Medieval midden being excavated in Shropshire.  She should check the list of officers for the club and see if she could find him.  Money.  Maybe the Ashmolean?  The museum seemed like a place that would have an expert in ancient coins.  Clothes, money, food?  Kivrin had seen flyers for feasts held by the Historical Reenactment Society.  They might have a member who was interested in authentic period cooking.  Then there were the national reenactment societies, but it would be easier to work with people in Oxford.  Perhaps she could work with one or more people from one of those during the vac.   She moved on to the next page of the form.

 

_Your proposal must be accompanied by:_

  * _A statement as to why your proposed topic of study cannot be adequately researched using sources available in present day and why it necessitates fieldwork. Please include, if applicable, your reasons for undertaking trans-temporal rather than contemporary fieldwork, and, the reason you are requesting the time and place of travel._



_[Justification of Research Methodology – Trans-Temporal, Version B]_

  * _A risk assessment form for the target year to which you wish to travel, taking into account potential slippage. Travelers to earlier time periods should remember that slippage is greater farther back in time, and take this into account in the span of years they address in the assessment.  You must cite publications of the Time Travel Probability Office in evidence of any claims made about potential slippage._



_[Time Travel Risk Assessment A – Target Year; Supplemental Form A-1 – Estimate of Potential Slippage]_

  * _A risk assessment form covering the place to which you wish to travel, with sources cited in evidence of any claims made as to the safety or lack thereof of the place._



_[Time Travel Risk Assessment B – Drop Location; Forms B-1, 2 and 5 – Literature Citations on Risks, Contemporary Safety Measures, and Safety and Security Precautions]_

  * _A risk assessment form covering issues relating to your gender, age, and other demographic classifications relevant to the circumstances of fieldwork._



_[Time Travel Risk Assessment C – Demographic Status; DS Variable OUTTR Ranking Liability and Insurance Waiver]_

 

  * _A health risk form documenting the health risks that have been identified for the time period you propose to travel to and detailing the steps you plan to take to prevent or manage potential incidents._



_[Health Risk Assessment T1 – Disease; Health Risk Assessment T2 – Hygiene; Health Risk Assessment T3 – Miscellaneous Health Conditions and Concerns]_

 

  * _Forms demonstrating proof of measures taken to minimize risk, including, but not limited to:_



_******_ _Proof of vaccination_

_[Office of Student Health Form 11B]_

_****** Proof of successful interpreter implantation _

_[Radcliffe Hospital Outpatient Surgery Department Affidavit; Authorization for Release of Personal Medical Information]_

_****** Proof of proficiency in relevant skill sets.  
_

 

_See University of Oxford Handbook on Regulations Governing Time Travel for forms not listed above._

_All forms must be stamped and signed by a representative of the relevant body or bodies._

_In addition, proof of vaccinations and other medical requirements must be signed off on by both The Office of Student Health and the Travel Clinic._

_Demonstrations of Proficiency in Skills must be witnessed by a representative of the body that provided instruction in the skill, the body that administered the examination, and the Time Travel Research and Support Division.  [Forms to be obtained from the relevant body; Certification of External Form for Internal Use – Time Travel, Undergraduate]_

 

A waiter arrived juggling her fish and chips and a brimming cup of coffee in separate hands. Kivrin moved the papers aside and rescued the coffee before any more slopped over into the saucer.  With everything safely in front of her and the papers unmarred, Kivrin considered the big question.  She took her time adding milk to the coffee and salt and vinegar to the chips and willed her dazed brain to work.  What was her topic of study?  When would she go on the drop?  Bells began to chime outside.  Kivrin ate a chip and looked out the window.  There was a pair of workers wearing orange vests with the logo of the city council on them wrapping a rope of greenery around a lamppost across the street.  The bells stopped.  The woman behind the bar rattled around under the counter and came up holding a tin for collecting change.  She was too far away to read the tin, but Kivrin recognized the logo of the Christmas Appeal.  A new set of bells started up outside, ringing in four note peals.  Kivrin ate another chip.

_Subject of Proposed Research:_  CHRISTMAS

 

 

**_8 th Week, Michaelmas Term_ **

**_1 Year Until Drop_ **

**_Brasenose College Phone Banks_ **

Kivrin rolled her eyes as her mother turned her back once more to do something to whatever it was she had on the hob.  “Mum?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“You’ll be staying in Oxford for Christmas this year.”  Her mother reached into the spice drawer and Kivrin wished the phone was audio-only so she wouldn’t be able to see the stiffness in her mother’s shoulders and she could pretend that her mum wasn’t upset.  Lydia Engle continued in the same pleasantly bored voice.  “You have your studies to consider, and with your cousin coming this year, it’s just as well.  You two never did get on.”

Kivrin sighed.  She and Michael had been fixed in an amicable truce for years now.  “I’ll come down on Boxing Day, alright?”  Her mother set down the spoon she’d been using and turned back to face the screen.  Kivrin wasn’t able to prevent a plaintive tone entering her voice.  “We can do presents the day after.  It’ll be less hectic, just the three of us.”

Her mother smiled the smile Kivrin had learned was for her benefit, genuine but not reaching her eyes.  “That sounds lovely.  Much more relaxing.” Her mother’s eyes slid to the clock.  “I have to go, Kivvie.  The Patels are coming over and I want things in the oven before they arrive.”

“Okay, say hi to them for me.” Kivrin reached a hand toward the screen, silently willing her mum to understand.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.  We’ll talk soon.”

The screen went blank as Kivrin opened her mouth to ask when would be a good time to call back.  She still had to tell her parents that she’d most likely be staying in Oxford for the summer again.  She might try and catch her Dad next time.  

**_ 2054 _ **

**_10 th Week, Trinity (Summer Vac)_ **

**_6 Months Until Drop_ **

**_Brasenose College, Kivrin Engle’s Room_ **

 

Kivrin used her quill to strike through ‘Learn to Ride a Horse’ on the list.  The red ink had been a birthday present from her father.  It had come wrapped up with a ragged notebook Kivrin had entirely forgot about filled with her clumsy, smudged attempts at calligraphy, from a fleeting fixation during primary school.  She blew on the list to dry it and tucked it into the folio alongside her schedule calendar.  She checked the time on her watch.  Her train left at half past.  Three weeks in the Penines on a farm run by the uncle of a friend of the girl who was interning with Probability this term.  She would help with the sheep and the vegetable garden in exchange for room and board.  The change of pace should help her clear her head and she could come back to her thesis with fresh eyes.  Del was staying in Oxford over the vac this year as well and they’d agreed that they would take turns dragging each other out on ‘mysterious days of adventure.’  They were scheduled to walk across Port Meadow to The Trout and hatch their first plot over lunch as soon as she arrived back at Brasenose.  Between the serious business of time neglecting her work with friends and checking off the rest of the list, Kivrin couldn’t wait to have no spare time at all.  

 

**_ 2054 _ **

**_3 rd Year_ **

**_1 st Week, Michaelmas Term_ **

**_10 Weeks Until Drop_ **

**_John Radcliffe Hospital, Post Surgery Ward_ **

 

Gillian cracked the door to Kivrin’s room open just enough to slide through.  “Dr. Ahrens is insisting you oughtn’t be disturbed.  Give me it quick.  I’m due to meet my friend William when I get off and he’s promised to take it by Brasenose before Hall tonight.”

Kivrin handed the student nurse her essay.  “It’s only my appendix, not a lung transplant.”

Gillian shrugged.  “You’re lucky she’s letting you have books in here.”

“I only got her to agree by promising they were the relaxing kind, not the academic kind.”

“Academic is relaxing for you.”  Gillian grinned when Kivrin didn’t bother to deny it.

“Thanks for this.  Thank William for me as well.  Someday soon I need to meet him.”  Kivrin smirked at the blush that rose in Gillian’s cheeks.  William was definitely not just a friend.  Diarmuid could tell Andrea to take that bet out of the pool.  Gillian rolled her eyes in answer to Kivrin’s smirk and eased back out into the corridor.  

Minutes later Mary Ahrens appeared in the doorway and stated flatly, “I’m not going to discharge you until I’m satisfied that you are fully recovered.  You need to be as healthy as possible for the anti-virals and T-cell enhancement to take full effect.”  She came and stood over Kivrin and the pamphlet on medicinal herbs open in her lap.  “We both know that you’re unlikely to get any proper rest once you’re back in college.”

“I have to attend lectures as well as prepare for the drop,” Kivrin offered in as even a tone as she could manage.  

Dr. Ahrens shook her head.  “I’ll let you go, on one condition.”  Kivrin did her best to look biddable instead of exasperated.  “You teach me some of those swear words I hear you learned from a very old lady who taught you to use a spindle.”

Kivrin started to giggle.  Ms. Maldon had told her that she would discover words she hadn’t known she knew while trying to master something that most six-year-olds in the past had had done with ease.  Despite the warning, Kivrin had been surprised at how difficult a skill drop spinning had been to learn.  The bigger surprise had been her teacher’s vocabulary of invective.  “I don’t recall mentioning that.”

“You were very chatty when you were coming out of the anesthesia.”

Kivrin pushed herself more upright and held out her hand.  “It’s a deal.”

Dr. Ahrens pulled the chair closer to the bedside and sat.  “Well, let’s make the best of our time until I see you again.”

Kivrin prepared to get it out of her system.  She absolutely could not use any of these words in the 14th century, unless she wanted to be ducked for being a scold.  Contrary to what Mr. Dunworthy thought, she wouldn’t be in danger of being burned as a witch.  No witches had been burned in England and the vast majority of prosecutions for witchcraft had happened in the 15th century, not the 14th.  He definitely would not appreciate her correcting him, and he’d only find something else to worry about instead.  She wondered what Mr. Latimer would do if she asked him to help her translate her new vocabulary into Middle English anyway.  She had a suspicion that he might appreciate the challenge.

 

  

**_ 2055 _ **

**_3 rd Year_ **

**_1 st Week, Hilary Term_ **

**_10 Days Post-Retrieval_ **

**_Brasenose College Undergraduate Pigeon Holes_ **

Kivrin plucked the slip out of her pigeon hole.  She wasn’t expecting a package, but according to the paper in her hand, one was being held for her at the Porter’s Lodge.  Crossing the space to the window where the Porter sat watching the flow of people in and out of college, she mutely held out the slip.  The package she was handed in return was a box, heavy and flat, with a label in the corner showing it had come from Research.  Hefting it more securely into her arms, Kivrin huffed her way out into the Old Quad and dropped onto the nearest bench with a curse that sounded foreign to her ears.  It took her a breath to realize that she had spoken in Middle English and the interpreter was no longer there to translate.  “Damn.”  

She grimaced as she leaned her head back.  The word felt misshapen to her tongue, too weighty and still not strong enough.  She closed her eyes and tried to ignore how her ribs ached.  The weak winter sun dappled her face as she took careful breaths.  There was a reason she wasn’t supposed to lift anything heavier than a notebook yet.  

The sun shifted and Kivrin opened her eyes.  The same light as in 1348, she thought, maybe even the same trees.  She turned sideways and let the box slide from her lap onto the bench beside her.  Hopefully whatever was in it wouldn’t be damaged by the wet snow now seeping through the bottom.  The top had been loosely taped and Kivrin was able to break it open with her fingernail once she found the right angle.  She folded the flaps aside.  On top of what looked like three or four thick stacks of paper loosely clipped together was a letter on official stationary.

 

_You will find enclosed the printed transcripts of the data retrieved from the auditory recorder implanted in your wrist during your recent trans-temporal fieldwork, as well as a copy of the data on a memory stick.  A backup of the data has been provided to Brasenose College, the History Faculty and the University Time Travel Coordination Committee._

 

She thought of her thesis, waiting in her room, painstakingly laying out the contemps’ Christmas rituals, each detail attested by the proper citations of the surviving texts.  She didn’t think there was one mention of the blue sickness in any of those precisely chosen words.  What could she write about it now?  What right did she have to lay claim to their experience?  She had been an interloper, arriving in their midst from a place they could never imagine, lying to them the whole time she lived amongst them.  She had gone seven hundred years from home for the Christmas from the books, with the yule log and the midnight mass.   And then there was Agnes, running wild ringing her bell, and Father Roche, in his stained alb, speaking in halting Latin, memorized by heart because he could not read, her Christmas as much as theirs.  Kivrin closed the box.

Large pale hands lifted the box and a travel cup with steam wafting from the top appeared under her nose.  Diarmuid sat next to her with the box on his knee.  Laila perched on the arm of the bench.  “I thought we had a deal.”  He shook his head when Kivrin opened her mouth.  “You’ve kept me in snacks for three years.  I think I can manage being pack horse for a few weeks.”

“No way are we going to revise without you.”  Laila shared a look with Del over Kivrin’s head as they came to join the cluster by the bench.  “You’re the one with the head for details.”

Del flicked their braid back over their shoulder.  “Why don’t you use the corder?  Did they take it out or did they just upload the data?”  They shrugged under the sharp gazes directed at them from both sides.  “She’s obviously thinking about her thesis.”  They nudged Diarmuid’s elbow off the other arm of the bench and leaned over.  “You could use it when you were walking or standing, in case sitting too long bothers your ribs.”

“Or punting--”

“Or shoving certain people into the Isis.”

“Does Dunworthy know you addressed it to him yet?”

“No, but he will once I finish it.”

“And get it bound and accepted into the Bod.”

Kivrin rose and accepted Laila’s arm to come to her feet.  “Of course.  The world can never have too many books.”

 

**_8 th Week, Trinity Term_ **

**_Six Months Post-Retrieval_ **

**_The Exam Schools_ **

****

Kivrin adjusted her tie and smoothed down her skirt.  The weight of it brushing her calves was a familiar comfort.  Bells tolled outside, practice not piety.  I’m finished practicing, Kivrin thought.  I finished when I stepped into the net.  She looked around her at her fellow students and thought of all those others who had been in this place, centuries of them.  Each nervously gathering together all of the knowledge gained in three years of libraries and books and pubs and punting, three years of reading and reading and reading, three years of the written word, swirling in their brains.  Each facing the blank page and waiting to fill it with what they had learned, as they had in 1323, and 1348, and 2038, and last year.  And maybe, to remember as they wrote, all that they did not know, not yet, likely not ever.  Each bringing knowledge of their own to the page, wrapped up in experience, unique and still shared with those who came before, and those who came after.  

That was history.  The present reaching into the past, through text and recording and picture, and now, through time travel.  And the past reached back, offered what it would to the future, hoped to be understood in its own terms, if only a little.  Kivrin picked up her pen, turned over the exam paper, and began to write.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It is implied in Doomsday Book that the Old Bodleian library was destroyed at some point in the past. I decided to replace it with a (somewhat less grand) administrative building, because things like budgets and practicality have to win out over grand architectural schemes sometimes. 
> 
> The Bodleian Library Declaration is real. It can be found here: https://www.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/about/policies/regulations


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